She came home and found her stepmom had given her bedroom to her own daughter. Was the room change fair or completely disrespectful?

Dad's first week home was full of small arguments with the stairs.

He wanted to carry his own laundry. I wanted him to let me do it until he was stronger. His therapist helped us agree on what he could manage.

“I've got two daughters telling me what to do,” Dad complained one morning.

Lily raised an eyebrow.

“Would you prefer no breakfast?”

He took the plate she offered and admitted the help was welcome.

She had started calling about apartments. I could hear the excitement in her voice when she described one near her work. I could also hear her worry about telling Vanessa.

When Lily finally called her mother, Vanessa said she was happy for her. Then she asked why Lily didn't move in with Tasha and her instead.

“Because I want my own place,” Lily replied.

They stayed on the phone for a while. Afterward, Lily came to the porch where I was reading.

“Mom thinks you're driving me out,” she said.

“Do you?”

“No. I told her that.”

She sat on the other step.

“I wish she'd stop turning every decision into something someone did to her.”

I closed my book.

“Have you told her that?”

“Yes. She got upset. But I said it.”

I smiled at her. Lily had wanted my room without asking me. Now she was looking for a home of her own and speaking for herself. I hoped she knew how much had changed.

Vanessa came for her remaining clothes on a Friday afternoon. Mr. Bell had arranged the time, and Tasha came with her. Dad asked me whether I wanted to be out. I chose to stay.

Vanessa entered the house and stopped when she saw Dad standing in the living room.

“You look better,” she said.

“I feel stronger.”

Tasha took a bag upstairs. Lily offered to help her mother pack, and Vanessa accepted. Dad and I stayed downstairs.

They were done within an hour. Vanessa came back carrying the last suitcase.

She looked at the photograph on the mantel.

“You put it back.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I should have asked before moving it.”

“You should have.”

Her eyes met mine. I waited for an explanation. She seemed to consider one, then stopped.

“I am sorry I packed your room,” she said.

I believed she regretted doing it. I couldn't tell what she regretted most. I no longer needed to answer that question for her.

“Thank you for saying it,” I replied.

She turned to Dad.

“Will we talk again after you've had time?”

“Yes,” he said. “With the counselor.”

Vanessa nodded. She took her suitcase and left with Tasha.

When the front door closed, Dad sat down. Lily followed a minute later, still holding a sweater Vanessa had forgotten. She called Tasha, who promised to come back for it another day.

“I'm tired,” Dad said.

“Then rest,” I told him.

“You sound like my therapist.”

“She's very wise.”

He smiled and went to his room.

That night, I checked the front door before bed. I knew Vanessa no longer had permission to come in without arranging it. Dad and I had changed the access codes after she moved out. Still, I checked.

Lily saw me from the stairs.

“She isn't coming back tonight,” she said.

“I know.”

“You don't sound sure.”

“I'll get there.”

The next morning, Mr. Bell called. Vanessa's attorney had sent a letter disputing some of the financial transfers and asking for a fuller review of her rights while she and Dad separated.

Dad read it with Mr. Bell on speaker. I stayed because Dad asked me to.

“Does this affect the deed?” I asked.

“Her attorney has raised questions,” Mr. Bell said. “We'll answer them with the documents and the account records. Don't let the letter make you assume the house is changing hands.”

I nodded, though my heart had begun to race.

For the next two weeks, the adults exchanged records. Dad provided the dates of his discussions about the transfer. Mr. Bell gathered the bank information. Vanessa provided receipts for the expenses she said she'd paid.

The waiting felt longer than the work.

I went to my shifts, came home, and helped Dad with the exercises his therapist had given him. Lily found an apartment. Life kept moving while a stack of papers sat on Mr. Bell's desk.

One afternoon, Dad caught me staring at the front steps.

“You're thinking about the house,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Whatever happens with the paperwork, you have me.”

I knew he meant it. I also wanted the matter settled so neither of us had to wonder what Vanessa would try next.